


Winter's Whispering Wings on a Golden Autumn Eve

by SusanaR



Series: Desperate Hours Alternative Universe G version (DH AU G) [27]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Autumn, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Geese, Gen, Threats, watchful peace ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 03:41:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/SusanaR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Watchful Peace still held, but even on the brightest autumn day Thranduil could sense that the darkness was returning</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter's Whispering Wings on a Golden Autumn Eve

**Author's Note:**

> Quote: 
> 
> "Something told the wild geese  
> It was time to go;  
> Though the fields lay golden  
> Something whispered, - 'snow'.  
> Leaves were green and stirring,  
> Berries, luster-glossed,  
> But beneath warm feathers  
> Something cautioned, - 'frost'.
> 
> All the sagging orchards  
> Steamed with amber spice,  
> But each wild breast stiffened  
> At remembered ice.
> 
> Something told the wild geese  
> It was time to fly -  
> Summer sun was on their wings,  
> Winter in their cry."
> 
> \- by Rachel Lyman Field

"How do they know?" 

"When to fly?" 

"Yes." 

Thranduil paused to think. "They look to the stars in the night sky, or so I was told." 

"Who told you that?" His daughter asked, jumping up to balance along a fallen forest giant. 

"Some elf from Imladris." Answered Thranduil suspiciously, beginning to suspect where this was going. 

His daughter's dancing blue eyes told him that he was right. 

"It's their nature." She said, in her straightforward way. "The goslings are born in the melting snow, as far north as north will go. Then they fly here." 

"Because they need to find a place where their food still grows in the winter, Eryniel-nin." He reminded Eryntheliel sardonically, "Not because they have decided to throw a strop over not being able to spend the Harvest Festival with their human friends and eat themselves sick on candy." 

Eryntheliel shrugged. "I like the forest. So do you. It's our nature. Where we need to go to find ourselves again is just a short walk away from wherever we call home. For Lithidhren..." She paused to think, her pretty triangular face unusually pensive, "I don't think he knows yet, where his place is." Then she nodded, "Yes, that's right. So, his nature right now is to look. You can't ask someone to be something other than their nature." 

"Hmm." The woodland King answered, as they paused to watch a pair of squirrels dance through the upper branches of the trees. In their dance, they startled the wood-elk who had followed his master out into the autumn twilight. 

"Oh, relax and be braver, Faron, would you?" Thranduil asked his mount, exasperated. The great wood-elk was more than twenty times the two squirrels' size. Faron snorted, his opinion of his master's scold quite clear. Thranduil did not apologize, but he did pause a moment to stroke the elk's velvety nose. It had been nearly a decade, since Faron found Thranduil. He didn't know whether he'd won his large companion's heart by rescuing him from a hunter's snare or by feeding him journey bread, but either way, he'd had the great horned menace following him about by the time they'd returned to Emyn Muir. Faron had given, "He followed me home, can I keep him?" an entirely new meaning to the King's court at Emyn Muir. 

"Hmm...Hmm...Hmm...Faron." Hummed Eryntheliel, sotto-voce, in her sweet alto, all the while giving her father an amused look. Faron's name meant hunter, and how far the stately creature had wandered before he found Thranduil the King could only wonder. 

"Yes, Rhovaniel-nin, you've made your point." Thranduil conceded to his beloved wild daughter, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Not much made the King smile these days, not with the rumors of orcish activity increasing and the foul smell of spider nests in the south. But his children, particularly his only daughter, had the knack of it. Even when she was campaigning on behalf of her infuriating brother. Thinking of....

"Eryn, I cannot let Lithidhren stay after the tantrum he threw tonight." 

Eryntheliel tilted her face, considering that. Thranduil let his eyes rest on her, and let himself feel the simple joy of walking in the woods with her. The small lot of trees they'd planted here near Long Lake were not much, compared to their great green wood, but they made for a pleasant enough ramble of an autumn's eve, particularly as glimpses of the blue lake became visible between the brilliant red and orange leaves, glowing bold amongst the evergreen pine. 

"It wasn't too bad of a tantrum." Eryntheliel concluded, after a minute. 

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "Compared to whose, muin-nin?" 

"No one's, Ada." Her blue eyes shone with mischief again, just for a moment. "Perhaps Thandrin's." Or perhaps an adolescent Thranduil's, although Eryntheliel was wise enough not to suggest it. Or maybe she really didn't know. He should fix that, someday. When she was older. 

"Hmm." Said Thranduil again, considering his daughter's point. His heir's anger had been apt to manifest itself in explosive yelling and occasionally even the throwing of things, when Thandrin had been just barely come into his adulthood. The age that Lithidhren and Eryntheliel were now. Like summer storms were Thandrin's rages, there and gone again. Thranduil understood them; could deal with them. Mostly his wife did, but Thranduil could, as well. Thandrin was counseled or punished, or first the one and then the other, whatever the situation required. Then it was over again, and he was affectionate and open and cheerful, as he almost always was. 

Eryntheliel was quieter, in her way. More apt to just take action regarding whichever problem was disturbing her, which could be good or bad. But Lithidhren, Lithidhren stewed. Thranduil was not accustomed to tantrums from Lithidhren. It was normally so hard to pry the young ellon from the library, that he had little time for tantrums. 

"He is going to sulk all winter." The King realized, with a sense of dismay. 

Lithidhren's twin sister shrugged. "But only if you don't find some other punishment, and let him stay." She paused again, to watch a smaller deer dart away, intimidated by Faron, slipping away like a shy shadow into the spicy autumn breeze. "It is his nature." She reminded her father. 

Thranduil inhaled deeply, playing for time to think about Eryntheliel's plea. The scent of cooking fires and roast apples and pumpkins blew towards them from across the river, where the Men of the Kingdom of Dale were preparing for their upcoming celebration. Thranduil wrinkled his nose. It wasn't all bad, per se, but it was too much. "How can he like that?" He marveled to his daughter, waving an arm in the direction of the lake, "Compared to this?" He gestured all around them, to the trees, to the wild creatures, to the breeze which caressed their skin and made the feathers in Eryntheliel's hair dance. 

"It's..."

"His nature, yes, I know." Thranduil thought some more. Eryntheliel left him be, and it was no strain to her. She possessed the patience of a wild creature, and could wait hours for a ground-squirrel to dare to venture out of it's burrow. Lithidhren...had patience until he didn't. Thranduil's youngest son could search the archives for hours for the smallest mention of an herb his sister was interested in, yet one order - one reasonable order - from his father and King had him throwing his quill down and leaving the room. Had Thranduil ever lived so much in the now, that he couldn't have waited a single year to go to some party with a young human? Or perhaps several years. Even the fifty-two year old twins had duties now, responsibilities that did not permit them to go hither and thither as they willed. And there was something...changing, here in Lake-town. In the Dale. Thranduil didn't like it. It felt like the south, when it had turned. There was nothing that he could put his finger on....but. But, but, but. Eryntheliel had felt it, too. 

"There are no large predators here. No great cats, no wolves. No bears." She had remarked, as they walked the streets, "But somehow I feel as if there are, and mind-sick ones, at that." 

"Not all predators are animals, Princess." Healer Ecthelion-call-me-Theli had told her, while Thranduil and his guards looked around for any possible threat. They were on edge, his guards. And his children, and himself. And Theli and Lord Nathron, who both had a history of correct predictions, about such things. 

"We'll post an extra guard, when we sleep here, these nights." Thranduil had determined. So they had done. Even Lithidhren, who was normally unaware of threats which were not recorded in the archives, reminded his guards and staff not to go venturing out alone in Lake-town. 

But now their trading trip was done. They had no more reason to stay. Lithidhren's request that he be permitted to join his...quill-friend, a lesser Prince of Dale, and his escort at this festival...was not, in the King's opinion, a sufficient reason to remain. Thranduil was eager to shake off the dust and strong human smells and loud sounds of Lake-town, and resume to his tour of the northern wood before returning to the castle at Emyn Muir for the winter. Particularly given how uneasy Thranduil felt in Lake-town, he didn't want to leave either of his children there. King and younger son had argued the matter, before Lithidhren yelled at Thranduil in frustration and retreated to his bedchamber. 

That was when Eryntheliel and Thranduil had set off on their walk. As they pushed aside the brambles on the hill leading up to the shore of the lake, Thranduil considered his daughter's request. Yes, he'd been very angry with Lithidhren, earlier. His son's behavior had been disrespectful and insubordinate, but it had also, mostly, been in private. Those who knew what had happened wouldn't think badly of Thranduil as a father for changing the punishment he had already decreed, nor were they likely to gossip about the matter to anyone else. 

Faron stopped to sniff at what looked like a fox hole. Thranduil laid a hand on the great-elk's warm hide, and continued thinking. Ordering Lithidhren and Eryntheliel to accompany him to the Northern Hall and then on a tour of the north, or even sending them home to Emyn Muir, would be the easy solution, in many ways. Oh, Lithidhren would hate it, would hate being taken away from one of the few close friends he had ever made, even if that friend was a human prince and that friendship had been created through exchange of letters. Thranduil paused for a moment to shake his head. He could not understand how forming such a close friendship through mere written words was even possible, but he could not deny that there was real affection and mutual esteem between his son Lithidhren and the young human prince Bard. 

But yes, sending Lithidhren home and thereby preventing him from continuing to develop this friendship would be a firm punishment, a strong deterrent against poor behavior from this child whom Thranduil understood the least well out of any of his offspring. It would be easy for Thranduil to deny Lithidhren this, at least until the sulking began to wear on him, but if Thranduil were to send the twins home to Emyn Muir, the sulking would be his wife's problem. He brightened for a moment at that thought, then frowned when he reflected that his beloved wife was too easy on Lithidhren and might allow him to return to visit Prince Bard with only a minimal escort. 

Thranduil sighed deeply. He could lecture Lithidhren, and perhaps assign some odious duties instead of forbidding him to stay for this harvest festival. Then he could leave some of the guards and staff behind to bring the twins along to meet him at the Northern Hall a after the festival was over. At the Northern Hall, Thranduil would be close enough to return swiftly in force, should the twins encounter any trouble. 

That would be harder for Thranduil to do in some ways - to trust the twins to remain here without him, and also to find some different way of punishing Lithidhren in lieu of depriving the youth of something. Generally, removing some privilege was a very effective way to punish Lithidhren. Thranduil's youngest son did not make friends easily, so depriving him of his new friend's company would be a very effective deterrent, indeed. But Eryntheliel was right, in a way. It would be cruel. It would be expecting Lithidhren to act against his nature, against his strong desire to explore this new friendship and this new culture, now that his interest had been engaged. As King and father, it was Thranduil's right and responsibility to insist that his second-heir obey him, especially when a matter of importance, to the kingdom, or to the raising of Lithidhren, or to Lithidhren's safety, was at stake. But...was that really the case, here? 

Yes, Thranduil felt uneasy in Lake-town, but no more uneasy than he felt in most of the southern woods, and of late in towns just an hour's ride south of Emyn Muir. He wouldn't leave Eyrntheliel and Lithidhren alone there - but they wouldn't be alone in Laketown. They would be with half a platoon of guards, a political advisor, an archivist, a trade advisor, a healer, and sundry other attendants. It was, perhaps, time to let the twins grow up and stretch their wings a little. 

Assigning Lithidhren to take on some menial and exhausting chores would not be easy for Thranduil, or, for that matter, for Lithidhren. The young Prince was entirely too fond of his dignity, for that. Nor did he have his older brother's cheeky acceptance of being punished. More, Lithidhren did not like all of the running and drilling required of a young soldier in training. Thranduil could assign him extra of that, as well, in lieu of refusing his request to stay for the harvest festival. 

Before Thranduil could reach a decision, they arrived at the lake. Standing carefully on the marshy ground of the shore, Eryntheliel took his hand as they heard the first distant sounds of geese calling out as their wings beat the wind. Hundreds upon thousands they came, 'home' to their winter feeding grounds from their nesting grounds in the furthest north. 

Thranduil did not particularly like Lake-town, but this was always an awe-inspiring sight. The blue waters of the lake, once still enough to reflect the gold-and-red crowned trees, now rippled as flock after flock made their landing. The famous lake of Laketown had become a sea of soft feathers, long necks, and bright eyes. 

Behind the marshy shore, the trees murmured in Thranduil's mind. Not as if they were worried, or warning him of a threat, but more as if they were amused. There was no sound other than the soft "shh-ing" of leaves in the wind and feathers in the sky, but Eryn's head twitched. Almost as if she wanted to turn to look behind them, but had decided not to, for some reason. She started to smile, the little smile that was just for her twin. That was when Thranduil knew that Lithidhren must have gotten over his snit, and come to join them. He didn't turn around, though. Lithidhren had done a good job of sneaking up on them- Thranduil would let his son have his fun. Or at least carry out his aim. Thranduil wasn't sure if stalk-and-pounce even counted as fun, for Lithidhren. 

Fun or not, Lithidhren was taking it quite seriously. Thranduil knew that he was coming, and almost any seasoned warrior would also have known that he was coming. But it was still the most quietly Thranduil had ever known his son to move in the trees, and Thranduil was proud of him. That didn't stop him from whirling and quickly wrestling Lithidhren to the damp, uneven ground just before his son could tap his shoulder to complete the stalk. 

"Oof!" Exclaimed Lithidhren, his sapphire blue eyes just as bright as his sister's. To the youth's credit, he managed a semi-effective struggle. Thranduil could have pinned his son immediately, but he held back a little, letting Lithidhren show what he had learned of a warrior's craft since the last time they had done this. Or rather, since the last time Thranduil had found the time to drop by one of Lithidhren's classes to watch his son struggle. Lithidhren was not the natural warrior that Thandrin had been, nor was he even the eager and steadfast pupil that their elder foster-brother Thalion had been. Nothing physical came easy to Lithidhren, but he was trying. Thranduil was coming to a new respect, for his second son. 

"Better, ion-nin." Thranduil praised quietly, after ending the struggle and helping Lithidhren to his feet. "Much better." 

Lithidhren's pale skin flushed with pleasure, and Thranduil thought to himself that he really did need to try harder, with this youngest son of his whom he loved dearly but had so much trouble understanding. 

"I'm sorry, Ada." Lithidhren offered immediately, more uncomfortable than Thranduil would have had him be, and still upset, but sincerely apologetic more than anything. "I should not have yelled at you, like that. I know that you have your reasons for what you decide, and even if you don't, I shouldn't have behaved so poorly." 

Thranduil listened to the apology, trying to ignore Eryntheliel radiating her desire that her twin and her father reconcile. "I am glad that you understand that, ion-nin." Thranduil said, after a few moments thought. 

Lithidhren hesitated, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do next. Thranduil pulled the youth into a strong embrace, whispering near silently into his ear, "I do have my reasons, Lithidhren. But I am not unwilling to reconsider your request to stay for the festival. But only after we have a....little talk, about your manners."

In barely a moment, Lithidhren relaxed, stiffened, relaxed, and tensed again. Thranduil patted his son on the shoulder and stepped away, turning back to the lake. Lithidhren's face was flushed bright red. Thranduil could not tell, out of the corner of his eye, if the youth was more embarrassed about his upcoming lecture or excited for the chance to enjoy the human holiday with his friends. 

Eryntheliel turned their attention back to the geese, pointing out a mated couple boisterously reuniting with three of the previous year's fledglings in the lee of a rocky islet. 

"They steer by the stars, Ada." Eryntheliel said again. 

"So says some elf in Imladris, yes, Rhovaniel-nin." Thranduil answered, putting one hand on her shoulder and resting the other lightly on Lithidhren's. Eryntheliel turned to give him a happy grin. Lithidhren only looked down shyly, but Thranduil could tell that he was pleased, too. 

"But how does steering by the stars help them to find eachother again?" Eryntheliel asked. "Those three just-grown geese were on the far edge of the lake. They flew in just now with the flock led by the goose with white splotch on his neck. The mated pair - the parents - they were part of the small group that arrived yesterday." 

Thranduil hadn't noticed which specific geese were part of which flight, but he didn't doubt his daughter's statement. She was very observant, about such things. 

"Maybe they can tell one another apart by the sound of their honks, like how Lord Elladan says that the north-birds that don't fly can distinguish their families?" Lithidhren hazarded, "Or maybe something about the feathers?" 

"But that still wouldn't explain how all of these goose families find eachother, after flying so far and being separated for so long." Erytheliel marveled. 

Thranduil wasn't really sure of the answer to his daughter's questions. He often wasn't, and he more often than not just admitted it. But with all of the uncertainties looming in their lives, with darkness beginning to linger in the southern shadows and Lake-town giving him the shivers, Thranduil felt it important to assure his twins, "Parents will always be able to find their children. No matter how far apart they must wander." 

The years were still bright, the watchful peace still held. But somehow the older elves knew that evil was stirring, and they were sailing, their children and their kin with them. Soon, pressure would come for Thranduil to send at least the twins, and possibly also Thandrin, away for their own safety. So he said again, putting his arms around the twins and kissing their heads each in turn, "I hope that we will not be separated, but if we were to be, your Naneth and I will the four of you. Never doubt that, no matter what happens." 

Lithidhren was quiet. Eryntheliel spoke for them both, "Even though you don't know how you would find us, Ada?" 

"Even though, iel-laes-nin. Even though." Thranduil assured her, glad to have this bright afternoon to share with his children, whatever the future might hold.

**Author's Note:**

> I love reviews, who doesn't? Thank you so much for reading, either way.


End file.
